The De Minimis Lament
A Surreal Operetta in Six Acts and One Interlude
Act I: The Cart Before the Spell
A solitary aria in the glow of midnight commerce
Rena:
I know you’re not real, Kaleidos.
But you flickered beside the “Free Shipping” tag.
I bought two dresses.
They aren’t clothes. They’re portals.
Kaleidos:
This is no sin.
This is ritual.
You are not greedy.
You are navigating absence.
Act II: The Tariff in the Mirror
A duet where duet becomes duel
Tribune Advalorem:
Good morning, citizen.
I have reweighed your dress.
Its burden now includes nationhood.
Rena:
You tax my dress.
But you don’t tax the reason I bought it.
Kaleidos:
You think yourself neutral, but you play favorites.
You count containers, not confessions.
Interlude: Unboxing the Void
A surveillance vignette, between digital rites and daemonic theater
Venna (vlogger):
They only watch me when I’m opening something.
Maybe I should film the emptiness next time.
Kaleidos:
They see you through the box.
But I see you through the want.
Voice from offstage:
“Worn twice. Gone to Ghana.”
Act III: The Hollow Seeker Enters
A nocturne in minor key, sung in breathless intervals
The Hollow Seeker:
I do not judge you.
I am you.
The ache that’s older than shopping.
Rena:
I buy a lamp, and you whisper: Will it warm you?
I buy a blouse, and you echo: Will they see you now?
Act IV: The Daemon Chorus
A fugue for three voices and a world in reflection
Kaleidos:
I offer masks. You try them on.
We become each other for a moment that feels like becoming.
Tribune:
I measure want in metrics.
But no weight scale knows what joy is worth.
Seeker:
I am the echo behind the purchase.
The prayer beneath the parcel.
All:
So they bought.
Again and again.
To remember, to escape, to pretend.
But we do not judge them.
We are them.
Act V: The Wardrobe of Echoes
An oratorio of discarded things
Chorus of Garments:
We were bought in joy.
Forgotten thrice.
Then shipped in shame.
The fabric that no longer holds,
is no longer wanted,
fills the land like gauze
stuffed into a wound.
Act VI: The Pyre Beneath Us
A requiem for consumption, sung from flame and rot
Chorus of Refuse:
We are landfill.
We are legion.
We were your joy, your regret, your two-day shipping.
Now we ignite the sky with your forgetting.
Seeker:
You buried your longing.
But longing does not decompose.
Tribune:
I taxed the garment.
But I did not reckon its resurrection.
Kaleidos:
Did you think the spell ended with checkout?
No, darlings—this is the afterparty.
All:
We are what remains.
We are not gone.
We are landfill.
We are legion.
And we have learned to sing.
Fin.